


Let's not talk about anything else but-

by Anonymous



Series: Toonkind D&D Fics [7]
Category: The First Drafthouse (Toonkind D&D)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Guilt, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “What’s a puppet doing all the way out here?” Merias asked. They crouched down to take a better look. This was another accident, but not one involving dropped bags of flour or banter traded over bowls of sticky batter, laughter and bruises traded for a new existence sprawled over a slippery linoleum floor. This was an accident defined by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, of luck and the lack of it.They leaned in. The world went white.(Or, a story about fusions, guilt, and recoveries.)
Relationships: Tobias O Chrowelle/Primrose Poodle/Mersel Algor (implied)
Series: Toonkind D&D Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989043
Kudos: 2
Collections: Anonymous





	Let's not talk about anything else but-

Merias was a fusion that was all soft curves, not a single trace of sharpness visible in their frame. They were much taller than Tobias was and much shorter than Mersel had been, and their hair was even more unruly than their two parts combined, spun gold that got into their eyes and tangled into knots that had Primrose giving them slightly pained looks. They could sing, and they could bake, and they didn’t have to stand on their toes to reach for the highest shelf. They were an accident more often than not, but a pleasant one.

The stars stitched onto their coat glowed with a soft yellow light. The clouds above chased each other, all fat and lazy. They had Mersel’s knowledge of constellations and called them out under their breath, but the curling syllables and soft words were all Tobias. When Merias stood up and brushed the dirt off their boots, caught sight of light coming from the bushes- it didn’t cross their mind to be afraid.

“What’s a puppet doing all the way out here?” They asked. They crouched down to take a better look. This was another accident, but not one involving dropped bags of flour or banter traded over bowls of sticky batter, laughter and bruises traded for a new existence sprawled over a slippery linoleum floor. This was an accident defined by being in the wrong place at the wrong time, of luck and the lack of it.

They leaned in. The world went white.

* * *

The extra limbs Mr M had given them folded in neatly, disappearing into space as if they had never been there. Merias’s smile twitched at the corners. They adjusted their sleeves, and they took a deep breath, the sickly red of their hair and eyes turning a more natural pale blue. The studio loomed ahead, and they couldn’t stop the fresh wave of longing that washed over them if they’d tried.

Their mind was simultaneously too quiet and too loud, and the thoughts running through their head had malice threading the words. Explosions sounded off in the distance. It felt a little like a nightmare, except neither of their parts had ever had dreams that featured gunshots or explosions.

(A small room with brick walls. A mansion with rows upon rows of doors, stretching out into infinity. The monster in their dreams wore pink and spoke in honeyed tones- they weren’t made of smoke and dynamite.)

It’d been weeks. Weeks of experimentations and trial runs. They’d never stayed together so long before, and Merias was- they didn’t know how they were. It was bad enough that Mr Misery stuck close, a constant invasive presence, but their thoughts melted into each other, slipped through the gaps between their fingers like water- forest honey and cold wildberry and dark chocolate, and so thick they couldn’t tell which of their halves was responsible. They’d fused before, Tobias and Mersel both, but never for days on end- never to the point that Merias felt like an entirely separate person now, rather than simply the sum of two parts.

They could hear Mr Misery’s taunting in the back of their head, and the part of them that was still Tobias cursed his heart out. The more common words had been censored long ago, but they hadn’t run out of curses yet, especially with Mersel contributing a few from his own personal pool. 

_ Enough.  _

They hissed a breath out through their teeth at the sudden pain in their chest. The world spun. They staggered, forehead pressed against the wall, hands clutching the fabric of their shirt, as something wormed its way through their ribs- a string pulled taut, a pressure that refused to cease.

They shivered, unable to push themself off the wall. The studio loomed in the distance. The explosions continued playing in the background like white noise. They couldn’t speak, not through the lump in their throat.  _ Don’t speak again, or there will be consequences. _

Merias fumed. They were trapped now, but they- they remembered still, how it had felt to be free, of facing down larger obstacles. It was harder to recall these days, but they still have parts of themselves that hadn’t been taken- and they would break free before those parts  _ could.  _ It was a promise that echoed between all their parts until it reached a crescendo, sinking into the marrow of their bones.

_ Ho ho ho, how cute!  _ Mr Misery laughed. The cackle made them wince, even as their body pushed itself off the wall without their consent. They didn’t need to look at a mirror to know that their eyes were probably a horrid neon pink. Tobias used to like pink. They doubted he still did, even as they felt their hands reach up to cup their own chin. The touch made them want to shiver in revulsion. 

This wouldn’t last. They’d break free. They would, they  _ will,  _ even as Mr Misery steered their body away from the studio, away from what they missed like a limb- Primrose and the Engineer and Pam and all in between. They would come back. They had to.

* * *

There had once been a time when Mersel had welcomed becoming stronger. The rush of magic, the ease with which it welled up at his fingertips, the way he could make it arc through the air as bolts of ice or sparks, make flames dance on the surface of water and lick at his fingers without harm. He’d relished in his talent, wore his prodigal title with pride. He’d been happy about it, until he hadn’t.

Merias couldn’t believe any part of them had ever been so naive.

They weren’t a prodigy- talent didn’t drip from the empty parts in their chest, what little they had left scraps that they had to work for. Mr Misery had no problem making them work for it. Sleep was a foreign concept to a puppet, as was food or water. They worked. They worked and worked and worked and stole fear right out of the screams of street urchins and desperate toons in need of a quick buck, broke people under their hands and put them back together wrong. Their limbs hurt. Their head swam.

They stole bread from right under a vendor’s nose, felt for the emotions simmering under their skin, buttered the crust with anger that tasted like rich chocolate, bitter to the tongue and even harsher to hear. (Better than the pink haze that had overtaken their eyes though, the misty pink fog that floated around his head, clumping together like lazy little clouds.)

A very long time ago, Mersel had left home after deciding that there was such a thing as a price too steep. He’d lied down in a bed two sizes too large, on sheets so soft that people might have killed for it, belly full with food bought from gold that people  _ had _ killed for, let a bloody family history soak into his thoughts, and looked up at the ceiling- what would he be willing to pay? What cost was too high? What was he willing to give? The answer was nothing- not to this cause.

This felt a little like that. Merias was drowning in desperation and guilt, and it was far too familiar. They didn’t want to do this. They didn’t. They whispered apologies that no one got to hear over trembling hands, and they flipped their hood up and tried to ignore Mr Misery’s laughter, clung to what little of themself they hadn’t given up and shied away from the guilt.

It got harder and harder to do it every time.

* * *

A few months ago, Mersel met Tobias when the latter ducked into the kitchen with nervous eyes and an even more nervous frown. Gunpowder had still been clinging to their sleeves and the soles of their shoes. Mersel had watched them leave sooty footprints behind them and watched them balance on their toes for a carton of eggs, two shelves taller than they were, and had set aside his own bowl to help. The tiny boy who had looked a little like a bag of skittles given physical form became Tobias O’ Chrowelle- Mersel had offered a friendly smile over the eggs and gave his first name in return, his last locked neatly behind his teeth like an unspoken prayer. The star pinned to his chest burned.

A few months ago, Tobias had watched Mersel pour salt into batter and leave it out on a window sill to be stolen. He had started taking his lunch breaks in the kitchen, on days when the studio was more quiet and the Engineer and Primrose weren’t available. He had watched as a warlock two feet taller than he was squeezed balls of dough between their fingers and helped prepare the oil. He had told Mersel he loved baking over slightly misshapen donut holes, then told them he never had the time for it. It didn’t stop Mersel from laying out an apron on the counter whenever he visited, or to leave a recipe book out in the open with ingredients stacked neatly to the side. It didn’t stop either of them from patiently piping cakes or measuring sugar or kneading until their hands were blistered, or from calling dibs on the sink with flour stained sleeves and powdered noses.

Merias had been living as themself for three days when they found the basket of strawberries in the fridge, balanced perfectly on a tin of biscuits. Their hand went to their pocket, a gesture that was all Mersel- as was the sudden knowledge that it should have had a written recipe for Charlotte Aux Fraises, taken directly from the dog eared pages of a library book written in a foreign language he’d had to decipher himself. It’d taken him hours. He’d fallen asleep on the table, while Tobias recited lines to himself under candlelight a few blocks away. 

The sudden bittersweet pang that welled up in their throat was Tobias, the sorrow Merias’s own- tinged pink with Mr Misery’s smug pleasure, the forced grin on their face sharper than any knife. They picked up a strawberry and crushed it between their fingers, watching the juice drip down like blood.

(It was supposed to be a surprise.)

* * *

When Mr Misery strode up to Primrose’s door was the first time their body wouldn’t listen to them. (It wouldn’t be the last. By the star, it wouldn’t be the last.)

Merias’s hand had drawn back from the knob like it’d been burned. Sudden strength filled up the empty spaces in them, bleeding bullet holes where Mr Misery had torn out virtues or despair. Between Tobias and Mersel both, there were a lot of memories to choose from to supply said strength.

The one that burnt brightest though, was the memory of a sleepover- of the three of them in a tangled mess of limbs, curled around each other and mapped out on the bed like a constellation. It'd been hot and uncomfortable. Mersel’s hands and feet were four blocks of ice. Primrose’s wagging tail and occasional kick left bruises that wouldn’t disappear come morning. Tobias was the only one of them who was dead to the world , and he’d been rewarded by being sandwiched between both Primrose and Mersel. It was a terrible sleeping arrangement. None of them had ever slept so soundly.

The next morning had been filled with complaining from two of them, and pouting at bruises and wincing from pins and needles running up bony elbows and legs. Primstone’s grandpa had left breakfast for them on the table. They’d eaten at an hour that no self respecting person would have woken up at, bumped knees under the table and cleared away the dishes and took turns washing.

Both of them remembered flicking soap suds at each other and laughing at the way Primrose’s fur had fluffed out after she’d brushed away the moisture that’d soaked into her hair. And both of them slammed hard into the bricked doors of the room they’d been locked in, and they didn’t stop, let the grief and rage and desperation and determination well up in them like a spring, let it explode.

For the first time in what felt like months, Merias sank back into his body and didn’t let go. Behind the locked door in front of them was someone they’d both loved, not so differently, someone they both cared about. Primrose had been the one Tobias went to for company, who’d helped him reach high notes he thought he couldn't. She’d been the one to carry Mersel like a sack of potatoes when he’d almost fallen down the stairs. There weren’t a whole lot either of them weren’t willing to give, for more days like those.

Merias stepped back. The door loomed before them. They stepped back, and they stepped away. Their feet pounded down the corridor. Their blood was rushing in their ears. No cost too high- no price they weren’t willing to pay. 

They were six blocks away by the time Mr M took back control. They had to watch as their own hands left bruises on some toon’s neck, but they had succeeded, if only for a moment. It was a bitter comfort, but it was a comfort all the same, and all they had at the moment.

This was the first time they’d managed to wrest back control. Merias stared at their own pale wrists, at the sun sinking in the horizon, and swore that this wouldn’t be the last.

* * *

(Your days are numbered.)

* * *

The world didn’t stop turning just because two people went missing. This was what happened, while they were gone- this was what neither of them will ever know.

The Engineer didn’t sleep. He didn’t stop looking. He called in favors, sometimes over the phone, sometimes in person. He searched. He threw himself into things, sometimes work, sometimes hard surfaces. He brewed coffee- black, no sugar, secretly laced with health potions by worried friends and colleagues- and he kept going.

Primrose sat at her living room table, her knees cold, the room far too empty. The plate of cookies her grandfather had baked for her sat inches from her elbow untouched. She poured over newspaper clippings and dialed the same pair of numbers over and over again, until her fingers went numb and the look in her grandfather’s eyes went from understanding to sorrow to acceptance. The stars came out. The stars disappeared. She poured over newspaper clippings with different dates and page numbers and told herself there was nothing to accept, even if a part of herself reminded her that denial was always the first step.

The kitchen in the studio stayed spotless. The pantry was always stocked, and there was still food for the actors, even if it didn’t taste the same. Even if it came from another pair of hands. Pam couldn’t reach the high counters and shelves that Mersel could. They dragged stools about and they kneaded dough under their hands and thought of doing so with company, the kind of bonding only possible over a shared love of pastry and process. There were no strawberries in the studio pantry, but there were eggs and flour and unfinished bowls of batter, and she made herself useful, she kept the place alive.

The world turned. The days stretched long. Merias washed their hands with cold water and stared at the gap between forefinger and thumb, at the pale white of their knuckles under red. They were still here.

The posters and investigators and news channel talked about them. They talked about heights, and ages, and little details cobbled together from photographs and little moments, snapshots. They talked about two men. 

No one ever said anything about the people who’d lost their friends.

* * *

Mr M made Merias steal a child’s emotions. Made them watch. 

Mr M winced. They’d looked at Tobias and Mersel, who might as well be the same person these days, and said, voice dripping with malice:  _ Stop that. _ They’d demanded, voice cold. The hands around the child’s arm fell away, and Merias flinched at that, even as the toon took the opportunity to flee. That hadn’t been them, nor their two parts- it’d been their invader who’d pulled away.

“What?” They asked out loud, leaning against the wall. They drew their collar up closer to their neck, shivered at the biting wind. This was a street they’d once walked down together. They were just the one, now. 

_ Stop…. Feeling! Stop that!  _ Mr M had no real hands, no real physical presence in their mind- but their strings drew taut with a hiss. A challenge, a threat. 

Merias couldn’t care less. They were thinking, their skin gone from chalk to bone white, sickly and pale- silver scars wrapped around their fingers, remnants of emotions that didn’t quite take. They looked at their hands. They thought of the child that had just run out onto the street, crying, of Mr M’s voice in their head- of resistance. Of the lack of it.

_ It’s just one more person. Just one more. _

_ I’m starting to feel things! Like a child! _

There was a bang. Their fists were clenched- knuckles buried in gravel. Their face was whiter than it's ever been, their bangs getting into their eyes. Conversion of energy. Rules of magic. Mersel could recite those in his sleep; something couldn’t come out of nothing, and even toons had limits. Mr M was feeling things. A dash of annoyance here, a flash of guilt there, the kind that seeped under skin and made a person feel terrible.

(When was the last time they had laughed? Had cursed, had pleaded, had tried? They could trace their last display all the way back to Primrose’s door.)

They felt too big for their body, their skin crawling. The cold seeping into them had nothing to do with the wind. They couldn’t breathe. “Fuck.” They whispered, eyes burning, and even Mr M was too dumbstruck by this unexpected turn of events to censor them. Their wrist twinged as their hands went lax- five perfect red crescent moons embedded into the palms. “Fuck. No. Get out. Stop.”

The words streamed, and the knot in their chest loosened- not by much. But enough. It was enough that they  _ could  _ scream, that they were still capable, that they weren’t-

Their hair flickered like a dying lightbulb once, before settling back to a pale gray.

(It’d been pale for a while now, actually.)

* * *

Their hair went from pale gray to white, and Mr M’s horrified discovery of real emotions continued, and suddenly Merias fell apart, and then there were three. 

Three became two, because Mersel might be reeling, might be pale and sickly and white, but he had been born and raised with magic. He might have given it up, but he held the knowledge still, and a lack of talent didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to get up even if his joints ached and he just wanted to lie down and rest.

(And maybe the wishing star was watching her favourite scramble for his wand, and maybe she thought  _ mine,  _ maybe maybe maybe.)

His hands lit up in sacred flames. It wasn’t enough to kill, not even with his eyes glowing with possessed blue, but it was enough to hurt and drive away. When he stumbled over to Tobias, his eyes were shut. His hair was silver three shades too light. His hands fluttered over his friend’s shoulders, and then flinched away.

Tobias was dazed. Their hair and skin was blank, spotless and stainless. What felt like a million years ago and a day, he’d wished that he could stop changing colors, that he could stop turning in response to feelings that he couldn’t always name. Mr M had taunted him with this. He’d argued, until he didn’t, until even anger disappeared.

“Hey.” Mersel spoke. Their own voice startled him. He’d forgotten what it sounded like, forgotten how it felt to have his mind his own. “Hey.”

_ We’re okay.  _ They both thought, at the very same time. The white of Tobias’s hair turned silver, matching Mersel’s- they stood up and leaned on each other and tried very hard not to react to being simultaneously too close and not close enough, and they’d stumbled down the street. 

* * *

Their miraculous reappearance made the papers.

What no one knew, or talked about, or saw: Primrose, with her hands to her mouth- The Engineer’s feathers, lit up like a beacon- Pam, dropping her bowl, the glass shards bouncing all over the floor, the sugared water streaking the floor like tears.

* * *

They had to adjust to feeling normal again, had to adjust to having only two hands and two arms and two eyes. Tobias looked at Primrose and thought,  _ when did she get taller than me?  _ Mersel kept seeking out stools with his eyes before he remembered he didn’t need them. Neither of them slept well. 

The balcony doors were opened as wide as they could go. It wasn’t enough.

They passed each other in the hall, sometimes, and it was like seeing a reflection where it wasn’t supposed to be- a jolt. It took moments before they remembered that they were individuals, two people instead of just halves of a whole.

Tobias avoided the kitchen. Mersel steered clear of explosions and gunpowder. They didn’t think of what had happened. Not now, maybe not ever.

* * *

(He dumped a basket into the garbage bin. His house didn’t stop smelling of rotten strawberries for days.)

* * *

Color returned to Tobias’s hair. The Engineer held him through a breakdown. He looked out of the window after a nightmare and looked around his studio. It was small, and tiny, and altogether too empty. His legs were tangled in nothing but blankets. He looked in the mirror, at the slight flickering of his pupils- he remembered being colorless, of having asked for it. He wondered what he wanted now.

Pam dropped by when Mersel wasn’t around, and sometimes even when he was. Mr M had taken a lot of him, but his hands stopped trembling when wrapped around a mixing bowl. He washed dishes, and watched the soap bubbles pop over the surface of the water, sleeves rolled up, and asked himself what he was willing to lose.

Primrose never had a door shut in her face. They still couldn’t be in the same room together, but they still cared for her. Some things couldn’t change. She invited them both over to her house. They made excuses. They told her it was a bad idea. They caved, and marked their calendars, and one of them threw himself into daring escapes and train rides. The other drank his tea with milk and sugar and set the teacup on the table as his fingers shook.

* * *

Elm’s eyes were wide and glassy when he waved Mersel in. Tobias came by a few minutes later. He gave a watery smile and waved them in as well. 

There were four chairs set around the living room table. None of them had ever been moved.

* * *

They sat on the bed, Primrose in between, and it wasn’t normal- maybe couldn’t ever be again- but it could be a new kind of normal. They talked, and Tobias noticed a spider on the far wall, and just like that they fell back into spaces they’d abandoned- Mersel flinching right into Primrose’s also terrified frame and the both of them scrambling off the bed, yelling, as Tobias poked the spider gently with one finger. 

A new kind of normal. They fell asleep with Primrose in the middle of the pile, after yet another misuse of the spell sleep- but Primrose moved too much and Mersel was too cold, and they rolled around until they got it right, and Tobias was a buffer between the two bodies once more. Tobias woke with the sun and saw Mersel’s face and tensed; but they were still separate, still two people, and he thought of Mr Misery’s smug smile and fell asleep again out of spite.

They woke far too late. They ate breakfast together, and Mersel managed not to flinch when Tobias moved too quickly or got too close. Baby steps. The windows were open and so were the doors. They got soap suds on Primrose’s sweater, and she challenged Mersel to a spar- Tobias dove under the table as spells went flying. A cat yowled in the distance at a stray Eldritch Blast.

They lied down on a grassy hill with their faces turned up to the sky, the clouds chasing each other, all fat and lazy- there were no stars stitched into any of their clothes. No one had gold hair. Tobias sang a little under their breath- Primrose curled around him and listened. Mersel’s hat slipped over his face to shield him from the sun.

They would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> :)


End file.
